


The Adventure of The Rocking Rabbit

by trulybliss



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rape/Non-con References, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 10:05:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trulybliss/pseuds/trulybliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sex convention, a mysterious new drug and Three Continents Watson getting kidnapped yet again. But, sometimes it takes the dark to show us the light.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Adventure of The Rocking Rabbit

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my dear beta Kelty for giving this a once over, but any mistakes are my own, unlike the BBC's Sherlock characters.
> 
> Also thanks to Bonfoi here on ao3 for correcting a few things as well <3   
> Critique is always welcome, it's how we learn.

“Sherlock, when you said you needed me to check out a convention-“ John muttered furtively into his phone.  
“This is a convention, John.”  
“Yes, but I didn’t think you meant … well …”  
“What John? Spit it out!”  
“This isn’t a convention, Sherlock, it’s an exhibition!” John swept his arm out gesturing across the room packed wall to wall with fetishists and everything and anything that might tickle their fancy both figuratively and literally.

“You think you’re very funny don’t you?” Sherlock drawled on the other end of the line.  
“Quite." Point one, John Watson.

The London Erotica Expo certainly lived up to it’s name. As John caught glimpse of a man adjusting his display of leather gimp masks he was reminded of something he had said to Sherlock a long time ago, it’s all fine. That saying had carried him through quite a bit, and sometimes John wondered if perhaps Sherlock had seen it as something of a challenge. But, Sherlock bundling him into a taxi with nothing more then an address and instructions to call once he’d arrived only to find himself, just short of an hour later, standing outside of Club Coliseum, the host of the largest show and exhibition for adults in the world was pushing it. It wasn’t that John was mad, or even embarrassed to be here. To be honest, this was far from the worst errand Sherlock had sent John on. But, it certainly wasn’t the best either, and John felt entitled to a bit of attitude.

“So, you haven’t said what I’m doing here yet.” John asked, trying not to stare at the group of women walking by in nothing more then what appeared to be floss and sequins.  
“I would think it’s plainly obvious.”  
“Not to me. You dragged me out of the flat this morning then abandoned me at a sex convention without a single word of explanation. I would be worried but according to you and your brother this isn’t really your thing. ”  
“So, you do admit it’s a convention then?” Sherlock shot back as John passed a booth displaying quite the creative array of uses for metal studs.  
“Sherlock, joking aside, what are am I doing here?” John sighed, stepping out of the way of a woman walking by and pulling along a pair of eager looking men on chain link leashes attached to nipple rings.

“Body of a young man abandoned outside Bart’s A&E late last night. Official COD was cerebral hypoxia, but there were no signs of trauma to the lungs or throat that would have prevented oxygen flow and the toxicology report show no signs of any known drug.”  
“But? What’s got you so interested?” He could practically hear Sherlock’s smirk, obviously pleased by John’s questioning.  
“It returned an unknown compound that has been found in a several other bodies across the country. But the COD has been varied in each case; heart attacks, strokes and one car crash.”  
“Alright, so how did we get from Bart’s to here?”  
“The victim, found last night, worked for The Rocking Rabbit, a local sex shop that happens to have a booth at this year’s erotica exposition. I have a few questions for the manager.”  
“Then why didn’t you come down here yourself?” John sighed, though he already knew the answer.  
“Oh the dead hold far more appeal to me then the living in cases like this. Besides, you’re always going on about how indelicate I am during interviews. I would think you’d be pleased to take matters into your own hands.” John couldn’t be certain, but he was sure the woman arranging a impressively wide variety of lubricates next to him heard that and winked at him. ‘It’s all fine, John Watson.’ He reminded himself and smiled and her. ‘It’s all fine.’

...  
The Rocking Rabbit’s booth ended up to be quite the moderately sized stand displaying ‘The Latest in Sex Toy Technology’ with plenty of space to demonstrate said toys to a rapt audience. It wasn’t nearly as tacky as John had envisioned. Granted, no one would mistake the dildos on display for classy, but compared to some of the booths they passed it was almost charming.

“That’s right ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to take matters into your own hands! No need to let the lack of partner keep you from enjoying a full and pleasurable sex life! Step on up and allow one of our knowledgeable employees help you find just what you’re looking for!”

The manager turned out to be an older women, a relic pulled straight out of the 60’s draped in flowing linens, her greying hair pulled back in a loose bun and strands of brightly colored glass beads hanging from her neck and wrists. John stood at the edge of the booth watching for a moment as she talked a young shy girl into letting one of her more handsome employees pick something special out for her. The woman looked like the belonged in his gran’s kitchen, not a XXX gathering. But, she moved with such grace and spoke with such gentle confidence that it seemed if you weren’t paying careful attention she might be able to talk you into just about anything, not unlike the shy girl now holding a dildo the same colour of her burning cheeks.

“And how might I help you young man? Looking for something special?” So caught up in his musing was John that he didn’t notice when the woman now standing in front of him had turned her attentions to him. Not allowing himself to linger on his embarrassment at being caught off guard, John launched straight into professional mode.  
“My name is John Watson, I have a few questions about one of your employees, is there somewhere more private we can talk?”  
“Oh no, what’s happened this time?” Her easy smile vanished in an instant and a genuine weariness seemed to settle over the women, ageing her nearly ten years in the span of a moment.  
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Geof Turner’s body was found this morning.”  
“Geof is dead? But that’s- I mean to say, I saw him just yesterday, he helped set up the booth.” Now, there is no normal reaction when someone is informed about a death. But, the look of confusion that crossed Aurora’s face was new. As it seemed that it wasn’t the what that confused her, rather the who.

“My apologies ma’am, but I’d like to ask you a few questions. You are the manager, yes? I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”  
“Oh yes, so sorry, Melinda Hobbs owner and manager of The Rocking Rabbit since 1969.” This seemed to perk her up, as her smile, though not a wide as it had been, slid back into place. “What sort of questions did you have?”  
“You said you saw him yesterday? I was hoping you’d be able to tell me what time he left work.”  
“Well I stayed here later then him last night working on the arrangements. I sent him back to the shop after he finished unloading the van. I wanted him to pick up a few extra boxes of merchandise to bring in today. But I wasn’t expecting him until later. He was a bit of a night owl, the dear boy.”  
“Alright, about what time did he leave here, Ms. Hobbs?” John tried again, doing his best not to be distracted by the woman behind Ms. Hobbs demonstrating a vibrator that seemed to be able to thrust its head back and forth on its own.

“Oh I couldn’t say for sure, wasn’t really paying attention myself. I’m friends with several other retailers here and it’s a bit a tradition to have a sort of pre-game party the night before, you understand. But, if you’d like I can have a look at his time sheet when I get back to the shop and let you know when he clocked out.”  
“I am working on something of a schedule. Is there no way that you could find out now?” John asked as nicely as possible knowing that Sherlock wouldn’t tolerate waiting.  
“Well I don’t have it on me young man, and I can hardly drop everything to go and fetch it for you now can I?” She scolded. “The expo’s ball is tonight and I’m a man down now. I’m far too busy to be running halfway across London to fetch a timetable. Besides, I don’t see what’s so important, the boy is dead, what’s the rush?” So much for the sweet old gran, John thought.  
“That’s perfectly understandable ma’am,” John smiled, trying to be accommodating. He understood why Sherlock didn’t bother trying to be nice to witnesses, this back and forth was taking much longer then it needed to. ”This information will greatly aid us in our investigations and hopefully help us bring an end to the case. Your cooperation would be greatly appreciated.” John forced a what he hoped was a smile but was probably closer to a grimace. 

“We?” She shot back. John was sure he’d never heard the word uttered so incredulously. “Are you with the police?”  
“Private consultants, my partner and I.” Sherlock hadn’t specified if the yard had asked him on the case so John thought to try and be vague on the details of why he was involved. “I understand you’re clearly busy here and I would hate to tie you up.” John cringed at his choice in wording “But surely there must be someone who could help me with this. Maybe someone in the shop?”  
“Well no, the shop is closed this week for the expo and like I said the rest of my employees won’t be arriving here until later.”  
“Could you call someone, have them meet me there? I really just need to know what time he got off.” Wording, John! “and I’d like to make this as easy for everyone as possible.” Despite his unintentional innuendos she seemed to catch John’s meaning that if he had to come back with police back up he would and after pondering it for a moment she reluctantly offered to call someone to meet him back at the shop.

…

“John you know my methods, why didn’t you just force the information out of her?” Sherlock sign, really was John learning nothing form him?  
“You catch more flies with honey, Sherlock.”  
“That’s not true, if you really wanted to catch flies something in the mid-stages of decomposition would serve as better bait, or perhaps some excrement.” The line went quiet for a moment after that as Sherlock was sure John was rubbing a hand across his face like he tended to do when Sherlock had missed some social queue.  
“Never mind, look she didn’t have the information there with her but she’s called someone to meet me at the shop. They’ll be able to tell me, okay?”  
“Waiting is inconvenient.”  
“Waiting? You’re probably wrist deep in the cadaver as we speak, am I on speaker or have you conned Molly into holding the phone this time?” 

Sherlock shot a glace at Molly who had turned her face away in a pathetic attempt to hide the flush creeping across her cheeks. “Both.”

“Thought so, good day Molly?”  
“Oh yes, this body is truly fascinating, cerebral hypoxia with no outward indication as to why. This one is really tricky!”  
“Yes, yes I’ve already apprised him of the situation. Now back to it, John, the information is absolutely vital. It’s likely his employer was the last person to see him before the killer, narrowing down the timeline could prove to be key in this case. Call as soon as you have it.” It wasn’t really a question or an order, Sherlock knew John, he would call.

It was rare for Sherlock to meet anyone he could truly describe as dependable, but John fit the description perfectly. John just fit perfectly. He managed to slot himself into Sherlock’s life so easily and fill needs Sherlock hadn’t even been aware he had. Now he couldn’t fathom a life without John Watson.

What was more surprising though was that Sherlock found himself wanting to fill the same needs in John’s life. Whatever those need might be. Likely due to his time spent in the service coupled with his concise bedside manner; John was already strong and kind so it was obviously not necessary for Sherlock to be those things. In fact, the only thing Sherlock did provide John was a constant adrenaline rush. But, that wasn’t something that only Sherlock could give him. Should he wish John was capable of leaving and living a perfectly happy life, which was something that he was not. Now that he knew what he was missing Sherlock doubted that even Mycroft would be able to find a way to rid him of this addiction.  
The answer was simple really, Sherlock just had to endeavor to find a way to keep John constantly stimulated so he had no reason to leave. 

“You’re smiling.” Molly’s comment cut into his revive and he was forced to look up from where he had previously been palpating the victim’s liver, checking for bloating. “Well, not now, but you were. Did you figure something out?”

“I think I might have.”

…

As the cab dropped John off in front of The Rocking Rabbit John had to marvel for a moment at the building. Large enough to take up half the block, it looked like any other shop lining this perfectly ordinary street, with a few exceptions. There were no windows looking into the building per se, instead there were murals of forest scenery behind glass. A stag proudly stood half-hidden behind a tree and a warren of rabbits were hopping through the brush. The double doors also drew one's attention, painted bright red perhaps to allude to the old red light district, and there were great brass letters above it spelling out the shop’s name. ‘Not too shabby.’ John thought to himself as he approached the doors, but before he had a chance to knock one door cracked open and the half face peered through the space.

“Would you be Mister Watson?” A quiet voice asked from behind the door.  
“Yes, and you are?”  
“Will.” The voice quietly replied, still behind the barely opened door.  
“Well Will, it’s nice too meet you. Ms. Hobbs said she’s have someone meet me here to look for yesterday’s time ledger, that’d be you I assume? Could I come in while you get it?” John could tell, not from the man’s face, still in shadow but from the shaky exhale that he was reluctant to let John in, “I won’t be a mo’, I swear, just need a quick look at when he clocked out.”  
“Geoff. She said over the phone, found dead this morning. It’s shame, I liked Geoff, but you’ll find the bloke who did it though, and I can help with that.” With that Will opened the door wider revealing himself to be nothing more then a gangly youth.Taller than John--not that that was really saying much, John lthought dryly to himself--the young man couldn’t have been more than twenty-five years old. A mop of dirty blond hair lay greasy and lank across his pale face. He was also somewhat thick, but not with muscle, no he seemed the sort that spent far too much time inside and on his computer then out and about. Still, who was John to judge, he just needed to snag the time sheet from the kid and be on his way.

Following after Will, Johns saw that the shop reflect the same sort of charm as Ms. Hobbs' booth had shown. It was obvious what was sold there, but it was tasteful all the same. The sort of place a couple could comfortably come to pick out something together or an embarrassed virgin might buy their first toy.  
It was pretty nice really, and John caught himself wishing he’d had a place like this to come to the first time he’d bought a dildo. A blushing boy just turned seventeen, stumbling into a dimly lit back alley shop, the shopkeeper behind the counter leering with a knowing look as John snatched up the first thing he saw in his price range that didn’t look like it would tear him in two.. It wasn’t until he got home that he’d seen it was a glittery bright blue. ‘Actually the thing was probably almost the same shade of blue as Sherlock’s scarf,’ John mused to himself, and despite the split-second decision, the sex toy had served him well, teaching him many a things about his own body, lessons that helped earn him quite the reputation in uni. "Three Continents Watson" they’d called him in reference to that foursome he’d had with a group of boys over on exchange.

Distracted reminiscing about his youth, John hadn’t noticed Will leading him into the office till the young man began to speak. “I’m sorry it’s such a mess, it gets pretty crazy in here when the expo rolls into town.” Mess didn’t quite cover it. The office was a room no bigger than the living room back at 221B, but, it contained no less then three desks, five filing cabinets, two shelving units, a wall of nothing but lockers, an oversized settee, and what seemed an almost uncountable number of boxes. Boxes were on the shelves, under the desks, stacked on top of other boxes, all of it creating a labyrinth of sorts in the cramped room with walls of boxes nearly to the ceiling. “This uh, might take a while,” Will remarked sheepishly, nudging a box with the toe of his shoe.

“Well, at least I understand why Ms Hobbs didn’t want to come down and help me with this herself.”  
“Yeah, mum mostly ignores it. But, to be fair it normally isn’t half this bad. It’s just the expo takes up a lot of time and space. It won’t look like this in a couple weeks.” Will laughed from behind a wall of boxes.  
“Ms Hobbs is your mother?”  
“Yep, family run business since 1969! You can imagine how well that went over on Bring Your parent to school days,” Will called in a mockery of the lofty tone his mother had used earlier startling John into a fit of giggles. Will peeked around a towering pile of boxes he’d previously disappeared behind “So the bad news is the ledger isn’t on mum’s desk. But, the good news is the mini fridge back here is stocked.” Will flashed a broad smile at him as he emerged from the boxes, open beer can in hand. “Why don’t you have a seat and a drink and I’ll get to work.”

Several hours later, and more beers than John could remember, found John in a strange position. Will had all but torn the place apart and still could produce no time sheet. Not that John really minded, he was surprisingly enough having a great time just having a normal conversation for once and the drinks Will kept pressing into his hands were amazing. The only thing John really had to complain about was the temperature in the small room, but shedding his jacket, jumper and vest fixed that right up. John knew that he wouldn’t normally be taking his clothes off around strangers, but Will was a great chap. So great in fact that when he slid onto the settee and pressed his lips to John’s in a soft kiss John didn’t even question it, just allowed himself to be swept up in the sensation.

Will touching John was both amazing and surreal. Every caress sent a shiver down John’s spine, every kiss stole the air from his lungs and when Will bit down on the juncture where his neck met his shoulder, John’s vision whited out for a moment. Yet, John felt less like a participant in the act and more like a spectator. A spectator for an event he knew nothing about. He had come here for a reason, though he couldn’t recall what that reason was, and even though Will pressing down on top of him as he sucked at John’s neck felt amazing it was also wrong for some reason. Every fiber of his being felt as if it was pulled so taut that it was vibrating with the effort not to snap, and John had no idea why. ‘If only Sherlock was here...’ John thought to himself, or at least he thought he had. The way Will froze above him suggested otherwise to John's muddled mind.  
Will slowly pushed himself up until he was hovering over John. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

Getting up proved something of a challenge not to mention staying up. There was definitely something wrong with the way the room kept spinning, and the warmth running through him as it pulsed from nerve to nerve, it was almost overwhelming. He would be worried if it didn’t feel so good. Nothing bad could feel this good, he was sure even Sherlock would agree with that.

Sherlock.

Swaying again as he fought his body’s need to move, the very thought of Sherlock all but doubled the electricity burning though his skin. A heavy weight began to pool low in his belly as John concentrated on that thought. Sherlock. Sherlock was brilliant with his beautiful cheek bones and fluffy hair. John got to touch it once, while making sure Sherlock hadn’t cracked his skull open when the suspect they’d been chasing had jumped him. Sherlock watched him, his storm cloud eyes never leaving John’s face. John had pretended not to notice, but, oh, what he would give to have Sherlock looking at him like that right now.

“John?” Will was in front of him again, touching John’s face and derailing his train of thought. Will’s eyes were the same shade of blue of the flickering flame on one of Sherlock’s Bunsen burners. It made the heat worse.  
“Sherlock … I need-” Will pressed a firm kiss to John’s mouth effectively cutting him off. “I know what you need.” He smiled before taking John by the hand and pulling him towards the back of the office.

Hidden behind a wall of boxes was a small door to another room. The room beyond was shrouded in darkness, and John was reluctant to enter, but Will tugged him forward into it before disappearing behind him. The door shut behind him with a soft click, another click signaled a lock being slid into place and a third bathed the room in the light from an overhead lamp. This room was half the size of the other office; it was kind of hard to tell just where the walls were exactly in the swaying light from the lamp. The only thing John noticed for certain was a large object in the center of the room and covered in a sheet. 

“This is my workshop,” Will whispered into John’s ear, coming to press against him from behind. “And that is my favorite toy. Why don’t you go have a look?” With a gentle nudge from Will, John stumbled forward a few feet and came up against the object. Pulling the sheet off revealed it to be some sort of saddle on a stand. It almost looked like an electric bull except not nearly as big and it had some sort of large nub sticking out of it near what John assumed was the front. 

“Would you like me to show you how it works?” Will asked sliding his hand round John’s waist, undoing the button and zip on his trousers and letting them fall to the floor. John had a little trouble toeing off his shoes with his trousers caught round his ankles so he didn’t even bother trying the socks.

‘Something must be wrong with the heater,’ John thought. His head was swimming and the air felt too thin here. He did feel better now that he was standing in just his socks and pants and Will was helping him mount his saddle contraption, so there was probably no need to worry about falling anymore.

All thought after this point was driven from John’s head as Will flipped a switch at the base of the machine. The saddle underneath him started to rock in the circular motion common in most mechanical bulls. Forward, up, back and down again and again it would roll under John. What was more interesting was that the nub he’s noticed earlier was now pressed up snugly behind John’s sack and even through the fabric of his pants, with every roll of the machine, it would press up firmly into his perineum sending sparks of pleasure shooting through him.

As John’s brain finally caught up with him he tried to find leverage, some sort of purchase or grip, anything to give him a little more control of the sensations rocking his body. Unfortunately, now was the moment John realized that not only were his hands cuffed together above him and hooked to a loose chain hanging from the ceiling but his legs were also strapped to the base of the machine. This made it difficult to distribute his weight evenly. He could try and pull himself up, but the chain was loose and John’s arms already felt like lead weights. His legs were slightly bent forward where his thighs had been belted to the machine which left him to try and support himself on his toes. With neither option really feasible, John was forced to allow his full weight to rest on the saddle. It wasn’t so bad really once he got into the rhythm of it and the constant pressure on his perineum was really starting to go to his head. 

John hadn’t paid much mind to Will since mounting this contraption; the young man stood in front of him, smiling hungrily.  
“Oh don’t you look beautiful up on there. I knew you would.” He whispered, stepping closer to John and stretching out a hand to hover just over the clothed erection John hadn’t been aware of having. The way Will held his hand just beyond reach was maddening: it was as if he was frightened to touch this chained-up beast he’d created, but it was his responsibility to fix this, to sate the heat boiling in John’s belly. John was sure it would drive him mad if something wasn’t done about it soon. Will’s smile spread, if possible, even wider across his face “Let me just-“ Will bent down to fiddle with another switch at the base of the machine. What happened next pulled a wet rasping cry from John’s lungs.

The nub was vibrating now. It was vibrating and John’s whole body was vibrating with it. It was as if it shook him to the core, and John was sure that if it stopped, his heart would stop with it. It was too much. It frightened him. It was not enough. He loved it. John couldn’t figure out if he was trying to pull himself away or press himself down harder into the sensation and he was both eternally grateful and unequivocally enraged at the bindings holding him to this monstrosity. By this point John heard nothing except the pounding in his ears and the sound of his own breath being pulled inside as shuddering gasps, so surely the familiar sound of Sherlock calling his name was all in his head. Not that it really bothered him; it was actually kind of nice, and John could have stayed in that position for days without knowing, lost somewhere in a sea of overwhelming pleasure. Then it all stopped. 

Panic. The second the machine stopped that was all John Watson knew. Why had it stopped?! It can’t stop! Something bad would happen if the feeling went away, something terrible! If he couldn’t find a way to make the pleasure start again, John would surely die! Maybe if he just tried to grind himself down, it would start again? Unfortunately that proved far more difficult due to the bindings that John forgot held him in position. He just couldn’t manage the right angle. He could feel his body start to convulse as the heat that been pooling quite comfortably in his gut began to leak and spread, burning along his nerve endings, leaving John in utter agony and unable to stop it.

…

So caught up was he in the autopsy and test results that not until the actual cause of death was discovered did he notice a lack of John’s presence. A glance at his phone showed Sherlock that nearly five hours had passed since they’d last spoken and not a single missed call or text was waiting for him. That wasn’t like John at all.

**Cause of death determined, victim’s schedule no longer vitally necessary. Still at Bart’s, I will explain when you arrive. SH**

**Your presence, while not immediately required, is still appreciated. Where are you? SH**

**John? SH**

**He’s mine now! Piss off!** 'Oh, not again.' Sherlock cursed to himself, For a supposedly competent army doctor John needlessly got himself into hostage situations too often. 

**COD determined as overdoes on new drug. John abducted by murder. Drugged? En route to The Rocking Rabbit now, Lestrade, bring your most competent officers for back up. SH**

Sherlock’s cab had only pulled up in front of the building seconds before Lestrade did. It was enough time for Sherlock to make it into the building before Lestrade could stop him with some flimsy excuse about protocol. The main room was deserted, but there were several doors in sight. It didn’t take more than a glance to determine where each door led to, but deciding where to start looking was trickier. If John was still being held here, it was unlikely that he was being hidden in either of the small theaters, which only left the storage room or the office. Both were likely choices, but the office would more likely hold clues as to what had happened.

The room put Baker Street to shame on its worst days, papers and boxes piled everywhere and overwhelming the already small space. Immediately something struck Sherlock as off about the room, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Sherlock could hear Lestrade’s team entering the building after presumably establishing some sort of perimeter, and it wasn’t more than a moment later that Lestrade appeared in the open doorway to find Sherlock turning in slow circles as he examined the room. 

“What’s going on here, Sherlock?”  
“This room is too small.”  
“Could be that it just looks that way because of the mess.”  
“Don’t be an idiot.”  
“Well, what am I looking for then?”  
“The contents of the beer bottles on the desk need to be sent to the lab and compared with the compound Molly and I were studying today. It’s a new take on Ecstasy that raises adrenaline to create a euphoric and hyper-sensitive effect. Unfortunately, that much adrenaline in the system without a stabilizing hormone like prostaglandin or acetylcholine raises blood pressure and causes severe brain damage. If I’m correct John was drugged without his knowledge when he came here earlier this morning looking for the victim’s schedule.”

Lestrade ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Morning was hours ago Sherlock, he could be anywhere by now.”  
“No, the suspect texted me using John’s mobile, he knows he’s been cornered and he won’t leave his safety zone. He won’t have taken John from this building. In fact, I don’t think they’ve even left this room.” At that, Lestrade raised his gun, no doubt ready for some assailant to come jumping out from behind one of the boxes. But, Sherlock knew better. This man drugged his victims to make them pliable, so he didn’t have the confidence to attack someone outright. He was a coward and a fool to think he could keep John from Sherlock by hiding like a rat.

Like a rat.

The walls!

Sherlock rushed into the far back corner of the room to the wall that should be pressed up against the storage room, but the wall was made with a different plaster than all of the others and there, half-hidden behind a wall of boxes, was the door! Quickly shoving them aside, with no real care as to where they fell, Sherlock assessed the door. Decent quality, but the lock was fairly common; it shouldn’t take more than a minute to pick. But, before Sherlock could even reach for his kit, a boot flew through his peripheral vision and kicked in the door.

“John taught me that, didn’t think it really worked.” Lestrade’s snicker caught in his throat at the sight before them.

Sherlock’s mind stuttered to a halt at the sight of John in his pants, arms pulled skyward, head lolled back, the man's flushed chest heaving with each breath and a soft, whining purr slipping from barely parted lips.  
‘I knew I wanted you, but I hadn’t realized just how much until this moment,’ Sherlock’s treacherous brain supplied as he stared wide-eyed at John. John was spread open before him, wanton, needy, and grinding himself down onto the seat he sat astride.

Of course it isn’t until Lestrade, who rushed past Sherlock’s frozen form in the doorway, tripped on the electric cord and cut power to the machine grinding under John that Sherlock even realized that John was bound to it. No time to dwell now, the shame can come later. Sherlock’s first priority is calming his friend who began to writhe and cry in panic once he realized the stimulation had stopped.

“John! John, I’m here! You’re okay. I’ll get you loose, just hold on,” Sherlock chanted as he gently released John’s battered wrists from the hook and chain. ‘He hung him like a piece of meat,’ Sherlock’s mind whispered, ‘He would have taken what he wanted and left the rest to rot.’ Beneath the metal cuffs were lines of raw flesh, angry red welts left where metal had bitten into the skin. Were it anyone else Sherlock could have been detached, or at least been able to step back and allow Lestrade and his team to take over. But this wasn’t just any victim, this was John.

The fury was there, boiling beneath the surface. John would be avenged, that much Sherlock was sure of. As John’s abused body lolled forward, no longer able to hold itself up, Sherlock found he couldn’t think of anything more important to do than simply holding his friend.

“The ambulance is on its way, Sherlock,” Lestrade said, though it was sounded as if it was across a vast distance. All Sherlock could really hear were John’s pained whimpers and cries. John’s bare flesh burned and the muscles spasmed uncontrollably as the drug continued to take its toll. Sherlock clutched John tighter to his chest and pressed his cheek to John’s head. If he closed his eyes, he couldn’t be sure if it was his body or John's that was shaking.

‘Please, God, just let him live.’

…

 

Waking up in a hospital is never pleasant, but unfortunately it was not something John was unused to. What was a little surprising was that he had no memory of how he’d ended up here this time. In fact, John couldn’t remember much after leaving the convention hall, which was more than a little startling. What had happened? Was Sherlock ok?  
Trying to push himself up in the bed, John found, was a mistake. His muscles burned as he struggled with what should be the simplest of tasks. Before John did more than grunt as he strained himself uselessly, there were cool hands gently pressing him back down onto the bed.

“Shh, John, relax, you’re going to be okay,” Sherlock murmured as a pale face haloed in dark curls swam into his vision.

‘Had his vision been blurry?’ John hadn’t noticed until he had something worth looking at. “’lock?” John managed to say in a thick voice. 

His tongue felt numb and his mouth dry. Sherlock had a cure for that as well as he urged John’s mouth open by gently pressing the pad of his thumb to John’s bottom lip and then slipping a small, moistened pink sponge on a stick into his mouth.

“Can you suck on it?” Sherlock asked, and despite the hazy vision, John was sure that he saw a blush colour those high cheekbones. A few minutes later Sherlock had finished wiping out John’s mouth, and though his tongue still felt fat and numb at least it felt cleaner. The whole while Sherlock had not said a word, simply staring down at the task at hand with that intense single-minded focus. As he used his thumb again to swipe at John’s bottom lip, this time wiping away a stay drop of water, Sherlock sighed, and maybe it was just in John’s head, but he was sure the finger lingered for a moment before Sherlock finally met his eyes.

“It’s unlikely you have any memory of the events, but you were drugged yesterday while trying to collect data for me, for which I am … well, it is unjustifiable and I am really very sorry, my friend.”  
“s’ok.”  
“No, John, it really wasn’t. If I hadn’t gotten there in time-" 

Sherlock, whose other hand still grasped one of John’s wrists, shook as the man tried to retain some illusion of composure.  
But, John had been with Sherlock long enough that even in his addled state he could see through the cracks in his mask and glimpse the heartache beneath.  
So, ever the brave healer, John mustered up what little strength he had left and managed to twist his wrist mostly out of Sherlock’s grip and grasp at the collar of the man’s shirt urging him forward till he leant close enough for their foreheads to touch.

“Never doubted you. Never have. Never will.” John sealed his promise with the softest press of lips against Sherlock's.

…

It took a full 48 hours to flush John’s system of the drug, most of which he spent in an unconscious state being pumped full of fluids and hormones. The only exception being the incident in which John, obviously still running high on stimulants kissed Sherlock. Well, calling it a kiss was being generous: John had pulled Sherlock into his space with a surprising show of strength, before slurring out his drunken sentiments, pressing his face to Sherlock’s, and then passing out again. Not exactly the stuff of those romance novels Mrs. Hudson was always reading, but, as it was likely to be one of the last acts of kindness John would show him, Sherlock would cherish it dearly. Surely once they returned to Baker Street John would announce his intentions to leave Sherlock’s company. Never had Sherlock dreaded returning home more, but as the cab pulled up to the kerb he steeled himself for the inevitable rejection.

“Tea?” John asked, ever the pillar of English pragmatism. As much as Sherlock didn’t want it to happen, he also so no reason in dragging it out; he was a proponent of quick and determined, like ripping off a plaster. So, taking in a heavy breath, standing tall and facing John Sherlock began what was to be a painful conversation. “I feel I owe you an explanation, John.”  
“Do you?” John smiled “Well this is new. Ok, tell me what you did to the kettle this time.”  
“The Kettle?! No I want to talk to you about your attack.”  
“So the kettle is fine?”  
“Oh for God’s sake forget the kettle!” Sherlock cried, throwing his hands in the air. This wasn’t going at all as smoothly as he’d hoped. The least John could do was make it easy. Perhaps he felt Sherlock didn’t deserve that, and he was probably right, Sherlock thought darkly as he threw himself into his leather chair. John still stood in the doorway to the kitchen, holding himself in an unconscious parade rest stance, a bemused smile playing at his lips.  
‘Oh, his soft, warm lips. NO!’ Sherlock chided himself, shaking his head, that kind of thinking wasn’t going to help at all.

“You understand how the drug worked.” Sherlock tried again. “It was an unchecked overdoes of stimulants.”  
“Tea has stimulants in it,” John said, barely able to keep the laugh from his voice. But after a warning glace from Sherlock, he nodded and came to sit across from him in his own chair. This was it.  
“I have found your presence in my life beneficial, the loss of which I may never recover from.” Admitting this to himself was hard enough, but saying it out loud was downright painful. “In return I have attempted to fill a need in your life, namely to keep you supplied with the adventure and rush that you so crave.”  
“Yes,” John smiled warmly “you do provide me with a constant source of adrenaline.”  
“I pride myself that I’ve been able to do so well a job of it too. But, if this case has proven anything, it’s that an over-saturation of stimuli can be deadly.””  
“That’s true,” John agreed with a pause “without the addition of other hormones to keep it in check adrenaline can be very dangerous.” A small smile teased up the corners of his mouth as he said it. Sherlock’s stomach sank, and he wished that John wouldn't look so happy about it.  
“Then we understand each other. You’ll want to leave as soon as possible.”  
“No.” John stated simply. ‘No?! What did he mean no? Did he expect Sherlock to leave the flat?’  
“John this is hardly-“  
“I thought we just established that adrenaline needs a stabilizer.” John cut him off as if he were reading facts from a medical text.  
“It was a metaphor.” Sherlock sighed. But John smiled and leaned forward, elbows on his knees hands clasped and gaze down cast, suddenly for all the word looking as uncomfortable with this conversation as Sherlock felt.

“Alright, then how about this, before you came into my life Sherlock I would barrel headfirst into danger. I ached for the feeling of my heart pounding in my chest, for my skin to tingle with the electricity of sparks flying from one nerve to the next. It made me feel alive. Being shot, being sent home, I felt nothing for so long, Sherlock. Life was pointless, until I met you.  
“Yes, you provide a level of danger in my life, but you give me so much more than just that. You have an uncanny if not unorthodox way of keeping me constantly entertained. You make me laugh, daily. You can drive me up the wall sometimes, but you also manage to pick me up when I find myself stumbling under the weight of the day. You give me purpose.  
“Your brother once told me that ‘When I walk with you I see the battlefield’ but he was wrong.When I walk with you, Sherlock, I can’t see anything but you, and, oh, do I feel alive again. You gave it back to me and I love you for it, you mad brilliant man.”  
“John, you can’t possibly mean what you’re saying, no one has ever-“

“No, I won’t hear anymore of it. I meant what I said in the hospital and I mean what I’m saying now, Sherlock. I love you and that’s the end of it. You’re stuck with me now.” And then he laughed and it was as if his laugh lifted away all of Sherlock’s fears and doubts because it was honest and it was oh so John. “Colleague, friend, partner, blogger or flatmate, I’ll be whatever you want, but I’m not going anywhere, Sherlock. After all, what’s the point of stabilizer on its own?”  
“Anything I want?” Sherlock almost dared not ask, but in for a penny, in for pound. “And if I wanted more?” John looked him in the eye, daring him to make the next move.  
“Anything.”

It was as if a dam broke. Sherlock lunged at John, grabbing him round the head and pulling him into a brutal kiss, all teeth and tongue. John played his part well, taking hold of a fistful of curls and arse and forcing them even closer. Sherlock could taste blood but it only spurred him on. Moving from lips to neck, he bit down, marking John man for all the world to see as his. John cried out, going momentarily limp under him and falling from his perch on the chair, Sherlock following him down to the floor, lips still roaming what skin was exposed on John’s neck. It wasn’t nearly enough, but thankfully John’s shirt was cheap and easily ripped open.

So much skin to taste and touch and learn. Sherlock wanted to learn everything about John, and there would be time for that, later. Now was just about grinding and licking, hot panting breath and John chanting Sherlock’s name as he clung on for dear life.

Another kiss, this one deep, Sherlock still tasted the blood of John’s newly broken lip as he slid his tongue deep in his mouth. Pulling back only slightly, Sherlock began to whisper a promise into John’s gasping mouth.

“Mine.” He breathed into him.  
“Mine.” He pressed their foreheads together and felt their sweat mix and slick their skin.  
“Mine.” He used the hand not holding himself up to caress John’s neck, his pulse beating strong beneath Sherlock’s fingertips.  
“Yours.” John answered before arching beneath him with a shudder and strangled gasp, Sherlock following shortly behind.

Moments turned to minutes as they lay pressed together on the floor. It was quick, it was dirty ... and it was perfect.. Sherlock’s elbows and knees would be bruised for days, and John’s new bite mark and split lip would need looking after. For now they were content to simply be as their heart rates slowed and their breathing evened out.  
“Haven’t had a rut like that in ages, let alone actually cuming in my pants. Lord, Sherlock, you will be the death of me.” John laughed. “Should probably get up.”  
“Mm, not just yet,” Sherlock sighed and nuzzled at his handiwork now adorning John’s neck.  
“I wouldn’t be surprised if that scarred,” John murmured. “It feels deep.” Sherlock had the sense not to voice his pleasure at this, but he was sure John could feel his wide grin. Still he pressed his lips gently to the wound by way of apology.

The buzzing of Sherlock’s mobile, still in his pocket, cut through the moment of silence and John groaned and made to get up which was just not on. In a move he was quite proud of, Sherlock caught John round his elbow and flipped them over, so that now John was pressed to Sherlock’s chest, with one of Sherlock’s arms wrapped round him, and the other free to fish out the phone from his trousers. John didn’t make a protest at the change in position and just hummed in a contented sort of way, nestling his head into Sherlock’s shoulder and running a hand up Sherlock’s chest to rest over his heart.

“This had better be good, Lestrade," Sherlock sighed, trailing a hand up and down John’s spine.  
“Yeah, and hello to you too. I was just calling to make sure you got John back alright.”  
“Of course I did.” Sherlock’s arm wrapped tightly round John at the accusation, but relaxed when John pressed a soft kiss to Sherlock’s collarbone.  
“How is the case wrapping up, has he admitted to anything yet?” Sherlock asked, steering the conversation towards the actual reason for Lestrade’s call.  
“No. I was actually wondering if you might want to come have a word with him, see if you can get him to talk,” Lestrade replied sheepishly. Sherlock did want to see Mr. Hobbs, but speaking to him was the farthest thing from Sherlock's mind. Besides, he was quite content to simply lay here with John and thank every deity and star he knew of that he had the chance to do so.  
“Not necessary. You have all the evidence you need to convict.”  
“We do have the evidence and bodies, but what was the motive, Sherlock?”  
“He’s a sick twisted man from a broken family. Children aren’t meant to grow up in sex shops, Lestrade, But where else was a single working mother supposed to take her child but to work with her? That being said, even if growing up in such a sexually-charged environment that didn’t affect him, the taunting he was likely to receive at school. Growing up under those conditions likely desensitized him, and considering no body was found with any obvious sign of sexual trauma it’s likely he was impotent and got off watching others struggle to.”  
“Shit.”  
“Yes, well … as I said, you’ve got this covered, Lestrade, and I am quite in the middle of something.” Sherlock pressed his cheek to the top of John’s head, taking in the sandalwood and sweat smell of his hair and smiling as John lifted his head to grin up at him.  
“Oh don’t tell me you’ve got some experiment on already. John’s just out of hospital.”  
“Oh, it’s no experiment...” Sherlock smiled and placed a quick kiss on John’s brow, “you might call it a study.”

“A study?” John asked once Sherlock had hung up. “Sounds more like an adventure to me.”


End file.
